


Blood and Silk

by Sunsetter



Series: No Sweeter Lie [2]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Assassination Attempt(s), Brothels, Dubious Morality, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Female Protagonist, Female-Centric, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Lesbian Sex, Mildly Dubious Consent, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Post Season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2019-06-29 04:07:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15721647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunsetter/pseuds/Sunsetter
Summary: Of all the things in the world, there was nothing Dottie abhorred more than feeling helpless. Butthis, she realized when Peggy pulled her close, was the kind of helplessness she could learn to live with.





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

She walked with a sense of purpose. No person caught her interest, no voice arrested her attention. The faces around her were but a blur, their talks a murmur at the back of her mind. They were unimportant, her goal lay further ahead. As she ascended a flight of marble stairs, she began to sense it. Somewhere in the distance, beyond what she could hear or see was a presence that beckoned to her. It burned like fire, its lure impossible to resist. With each step she made her heart beat a little faster.

Before long she emerged on a spacious terrace. She stalked amidst the crowd, her dress fluttering in the wind. A cursory glance at the people betrayed no trace of what she sought. Her lips still curved into a smile. There was something to be said of building anticipation, but either way, it didn’t matter. Dottie knew she was here.

She relished each second, the moment-to-moment search somehow reminiscent of a hunt; for a brief instant she would a catch a familiar chime of laughter that sent a pleasant tingle down her spine. Before she could locate it, the chatter drowned it out. Only several heartbeats after, she’d espy a fleeting sight of a scarlet dress, the only color within the sea of darker shades. One, two, three steps and through the break in the crowd two piercing brown eyes locked onto hers, keeping her frozen in place. Then a passing figure in front, and they were gone. If this was a hunt, she wasn’t entirely sure which of them was the prey.

When at last she emerged from the lifeless confluence, she saw her standing near the stony fence, a lone figure framed by the setting sun.

A vision in red.

Peggy Carter.

The name alone summoned a thousand memories; her presence dashed them all away. With a slow gait and a hint of a smile, Dottie came by her side. Peggy looked on at the cityscape for a few moments longer, before noticing she was also being watched. A sliver of surprise flashed across her visage. Perhaps she expected her present company to also be enthralled by the scene before them, but all of Dottie’s attention was on her. As magnificent and resplendent the dying sun was, it paled in comparison to the beauty Dottie was now soaking in.

“Quite a party.”

Dottie smiled wider. A comment born of discomfort, she found. Clearly Peggy was not used to this kind of attention, at least not from another woman. “I wouldn’t know, I’ve only just arrived.”

“Then I dare say you have a lot of mingling ahead of you.” A polite, implicit refusal. For any other person, a message sufficiently clear. Dottie knew better. It was a mask begging to be shattered, an invitation shrouded in etiquette and decorum.

“Mingling?” Dottie returned with a light scoff. “That would imply I have even a passing interest in anyone else here.”

In lieu of a response, Peggy brought the glass of champagne that she’d been holding to her lips and took a sip. Hopefully it wouldn’t be obvious it was to keep herself from smiling. “Are you always this forward, miss...?”

“Underwood. Dottie Underwood. And no – only when I see my interest mirrored to a tee.”

Peggy reacted with a small gasp, then placing the champagne on the fence. “Well in this case you’ve made an error in judgment, I assure you.” Just as she was about to leave, Dottie’s hand shot out to grab her by the wrist.

“No, I don’t think I have.”

They glared at each other, Dottie’s expression of self-assured satisfaction faced with Peggy’s indignant one.

“What is it that you want, Miss Underwood?”

As far as pointless questions they both knew the answer to, Dottie quite liked this one. With a deft move of her hand, she grabbed Peggy by the waist and pulled her close. Their bodies pressed against one another, Peggy could only stare aghast at the audacity of the other woman.

Gently, Dottie caressed Peggy’s face with the back of her fingers. Her lips hovered only a hair’s breath away from Peggy’s as she whispered, “I want what’s _mine_.”

The distance between them vanished, the image blurred and the world shattered. Dottie awoke with a start, eyes darting about her empty room. Drawing a deep sigh, she slumped back onto the bed.

_Again with the dreams..._

She tugged at her handcuffed hand, the feeling of steel around the wrist bringing some small amount of comfort. Staring at the ceiling, she tried to recall the dream. Details of it were already disappearing, faster than she could commit them to memory. But that ghost of a feeling, the kiss they shared in the evanescent moment between her dreams and waking hours – that remained.

Just as she thought how pathetic it would be if she were to dwell on such things, a noise outside of her window caught her attention. Uncuffing herself, she poured a glass of water from the nightstand, then rose to find the cause of the disturbance.

Only a few stories down, a scene lit by a nearby flickering streetlight: a prone man lay huddled in a fetal position as he was being beaten by two figures whose faces she couldn’t see. They frisked him for valuables, one of them kicking him viciously once they presumably found little, then took off into the dark.

Dottie watched all of this with a moue of disgust on her face. Just as she thought she couldn’t be more repulsed by this cesspool of a country, something – or someone – proved her wrong. Every facet and strata of society rotten; a cancer that had spread beyond control. All of it.... except... well...

Peggy was... an anomaly. Like a flower growing out of a crack in the pavement. How such a rare creature could exist in this vile excuse for a culture Dottie would never understand. But she did. And she was there in Dottie’s path, opposing her, fighting her, doing her best to stop her. The only one that was her match, the one person whose every success in stifling Dottie’s plans only increased the respect she felt for the woman.

With Peggy’s face still in her mind, she glanced at the reflection on the window and caught herself smiling.

_S m i l i n g._

The glass she’d been holding shattered across the wall, but after that momentary outburst she reigned her emotions in.

No.

This won’t do. This simply will not do.

She had a mission to complete, and she couldn’t afford a distraction. And that is all that Peggy was. A curious one, as far as distractions go, but nothing more than that. She’ll get this out of her system and then focus on her mission. After all, her life depended on it.

 

*

 

“Let me guess, you didn’t get any sleep last night?”

“Thank you, chief. That’s precisely what a lady likes to hear.”

“Come on, Carter, you know that’s not what I meant. You always look... uhm , well...”

Glancing over the sizeable stack of files, Peggy saw the chief comically fumbling for words. He meant well, she knew. But she still couldn’t resist teasing him on an occasion.

“What did you mean then?” she decided to give him an out lest he started blushing.

“Well you’ve been at it for weeks now and to tell you the truth, I really think you’re wasting your time. The Council of Nine is done, Carter.  After Frost offed half their members, the rest scattered to the wind.”

“I suppose so. Nevertheless, I’m starting to suspect we haven’t heard the last of them.”

“It’s just hearsay, for god’s sake. That and some dead end paper trails.”

“Don’t forget the photos,” Peg played along.

“Right,” he lifted the nearest one, scanning the distant blur of two individuals talking. “Let’s not forget that. Honestly--”

“I know it doesn’t seem like much, chief, but it starts to add up. I’ve learnt to trust my instincts, and in this case...”

“Alright, alright,” he smirked, “but if come across anything substantial...”

“You’ll be the first to know.”

He wasn’t entirely wrong, Peggy acknowledged inwardly as Sousa returned to his office. The bulk of her evidence consisted of stuff that would be laughed off in a court of law. Yet there was a common, almost invisible strand that seemed to tie it all into something that at very least warranted attention. Unfortunately, nobody else at the S.S.R. seemed to be of the same opinion,  so she resolved to remain in L.A. for a while longer. And the fact she’d heard Dottie Underwood did the same certainly did not influence her decision in the least.

As she was going through the file of a suspected financial supporter of the Council, someone cleared their throat just in front of her. She looked up to see a short man in his early thirties, clad in a drab set of clothes and looking at her behind a wiry pair of glasses.

“P-Peggy C-C-C-Carter?” he stammered.

“Yes?”

“I’m supposed to d-d-deliver this,” he said, proffering a white envelope with a slightly trembling hand. He didn’t look like a postal worker, as far as she could tell. And his fearful demeanor made her conclude something was afoot. But before she even began to imagine what this was about, he took one last look at her, dropped the letter on the desk and swiftly headed for the door.

“Wait!”

He was gone.

The inconspicuous missive lay on Peg’s desk, with only her name written on it. She inspected the elegant cursive letters, not quite able to conclude whether it was a man’s or a woman’s, but leaning towards the latter. Upon opening the thing, she found a brief yet unambiguous message:

 

_You’re looking for information on the Council._

_The Lagoon, tomorrow, 9pm. Come alone._

_How convenient,_ Peggy noted, _and not all suspicious._ The name ‘Lagoon’ sounded familiar, perhaps an establishment Daniel had mentioned on an occasion. Either way, a preemptive inspection would be required, if she was at all to entertain the notion of going alone. No matter how tempting the idea of obtaining information on the Council may be, it certainly wasn’t worth risking her life. Now, if the place turned out to be public enough, the chance of foul play would be significantly lessened. Either way, this wasn’t something she’d feel comfortable confiding with the chief, not until she gets to the bottom of it.

Yet there was something bugging her about the questionable invitation, and it wasn’t prospect of going to the Lagoon alone. It was only when she placed the letter back in the envelope that she realized what it was. In all her years with the S.S.R. and receiving intel in one shape or another, she had never gotten a tip on a paper scented with perfume.

 

*

 

The purple glow of the neon sign reflected in Dottie’s hypnotized eyes. The aptly named ‘Primrose Path’ was not a place she ever imagined visiting, but now that she found herself at the entrance, coming here seemed like the natural course of action. She needed to clear her mind for the upcoming mission and this... this was certainly one way to do that.

If she hadn’t been wrapped up in trying to convince herself of how dispassionate and logical her reasoning on the matter was, she would’ve noticed the wide berth everyone else seemed to be giving this den of iniquity. Not that she would’ve cared. It wasn’t the first time she had a keen interest in what most people shied away from.  Most, but certainly not all. In the few minutes she stood there, several men surreptitiously made their way inside, invariably casting a furtive glance around before entering. At length, she followed in their footsteps.

Just as she was about to climb the few steps that led to the entrance, the man that stood at the side stepped in front to block her way.

“Side entrance,” the brute growled.

Dottie scanned him for a moment, weighing the pros and cons of a passing urge.  A little taller than her, well built and with a face of an uncanny resemblance to a bulldog, the man gave off the impression of someone who knew how to handle himself without having any formal training. Which meant that, excluding the switchblade she had on her person at all times, Dottie could think of exactly seven different ways of killing him on the spot – without drawing too much attention too soon of course. Unfortunately, that would put a wrench in her plans for the rest of the evening.

_Oh well,_ she thought and sighed wistfully. _Maybe on the way back._

Following a short stroll down the alley, Dottie entered the building to find herself in a room far less prepossessing than the main entrance would suggest. The ramshackle chamber gave off a stale, odoriferous smell, with the decaying wall paint and broken lighting complementing the uninviting mood. It was only the stark difference of the atmosphere she espied through the curtains at the other end that made her believe she may yet find what she was looking for.

When she emerged through the brocaded velvet, she was met by a more luxurious yet unquestionably gaudy display. The wallpapers, the lights, the carpets – it all left little to the imagination on what exactly this place was. And if there had been any doubt, a bevy of young girls in various states of undress would've put it to rest. Each of them seemed preoccupied with one thing or another – be it putting on makeup, donning or removing clothes, rushing out or coming in. Yet Dottie’s arrival did not go unnoticed.

“Right, right, let’s have a look at y’a.”

An elderly woman, likely the ‘madam’ of the establishment, circled Dottie while glancing over her with analytical eyes. Before she could even utter a word, the woman continued.

“Bit thin in the waste, are we? Pretty enough, but sure could use some meat on your bones. Still, we’ll put you to work,” she babbled on, before opening a book on a nearby stand to pen something in. Then turning around, she was startled by bumping into Dottie who had in the space of those few seconds closed in on her so that they were now face to face.

With a sickly sweet smile and a slow, clear utterance of each syllable, Dottie finally spoke.

“Do I _look_ like I came here to work for you?”

The unnerved matron gawked back at her, clearly at a loss as to what to say. There was fear in her eyes, one that Dottie knew all too well. It was that creeping horror born of a slow realization that the person in question had gravely underestimated the circumstance of their encounter. And this wretched woman certainly did. Dottie was used to it, relished it in fact. And she knew what came next. Sure enough, the madam glanced around in discomfort, trying to appear unaffected whilst clearly showing there was something about Dottie that made her wish they’d never meet again.

“N-no?” the woman stammered. “What then--”

“I’d like to avail myself of your services,” Dottie responded calmly.

“You? But... but... you’re--”

“I’m what, exactly?”

One second, a single impulse and she could reach out and snap her neck like a twig. After all, she wasn’t _that_ eager to go through with all of this.

“It’s... um... just that, we don’t usually entertain wo... persons, persons of a, um...”

“You’ll make an exception.”

Whatever nascent objection was forthcoming, the sight of a stack of dollar bills in Dottie’s hand gave the woman pause. The very next second she was all smiles and ingratiating ways.

“Give me just a moment and I’ll see what we can do for you.” She rushed up the nearby stairs, leaving Dottie with a single impression.

_Pathetic._

A few minutes later the madam returned and bade Dottie to follow her upstairs.

“These ladies,” she relayed while opening a set of double-winged doors, “will be glad to accommodate your, uhm... tastes.”

Dottie looked over the dozen or so girls and women that were lined up in front of her. Wrong hair color, wrong height, wrong body type... Then as she neared the end, her ill fortune took a different turn. The eye color wasn’t quite right, jaw a bit sharper, but other than that, the girl’s resemblance fell well within the realm of acceptable.

“Her,” Dottie gestured, upon which the others dispersed along with the madam.

“If you’ll please follow me, miss,” the girl invited, heading through a side door with Dottie in tow. They made their way down a smaller corridor and arrived to what was apparently her personal boudoir. “You know, I don’t often get clients like you,” she commented while closing the door behind them.

Dottie had half a mind to ask what kind of client was she, but decided against it. Doing so would only invite further conversation and the girl’s voice... it was yet another reminder she wasn’t dealing with the original.

While the girl poured herself a drink and downed a fairly large swig, Dottie took the chance to take a better look at her. Clad in a teal skirt and matching bodice covered with a sheer fichu, she gave of the impression of someone who did not belong here, rather more fitting for a stage somewhere. A pretty little thing, certainly. If only she stopped talking.

“You know, I have a gift. I can always tell what somebody likes, and you... I think you like to play games,” the girl mused whilst removing the fichu to reveal her cleavage. With a slow gait she closed the distance between them, her eyes seductively locked onto Dottie’s. “Shall I be a disobedient student for you? Perhaps a naughty nurse? Or will we stick closer to reality where I am your personal... dirty... little _whore?_ ”

Violently grabbing her by the neck, Dottie shoved her against the wall in seething anger. “Peggy would NEVER degrade herself like-- !”

Her acrimonious outburst came to a halt upon seeing how quickly that veneer of the girl’s seductiveness yielded to fear. The young woman struggled to breathe, muttering indistinct pleas until Dottie’s hand slackened, allowing her to scamper off into a corner.

Dottie watched the poor thing cower, as the sliver of shame over her misplaced anger gave way to self-disgust. This city is getting to her, she realized. She’d spent far too much time here, though more recently not of her own volition. Either way, her behavior was inexcusable – not the near taking of a life, but the loss of control over so petty a reason.

As she headed for the door she felt the momentary urge to turn back and apologize, but it was an unsettling compulsion she quickly buried. It would serve no purpose. The night on the whole was, however, not a complete waste. If nothing else it would serve as a reminder: no lesser simulacra would ever come close to effulgent presence that was Peggy Carter.

 

*

 

The dials on her wrist watch moved at an agonizingly slow pace. Peggy sat at her table, casting a surreptitious glance at any person that could’ve potentially been her contact. Yet in all the time she’s been here, no one had approached her. Nine o’clock had come and gone and she was slowly beginning to consider the possibility of the invitation being a joke. But then she remembered no one acquainted with the Council in any capacity would dare to jest in such a manner. Nevertheless, coming here had turned out to be a waste of time. _Five more minutes,_ she decided, _and that’s it._

As she took another sip of her drink, her gaze fell upon a man at the bar. He was eyeing her with clear interest, swirling the alcohol in his own glass. As if to answer the question on Peggy’s mind, he rose and headed straight for her table. This would be it then.

He sauntered over in his elegant, smoky suit and sat across from her.

“You know what I think when I see lady sitting alone for so long?” came his gruff voice. “I think, some sad schmuck actually stood up a dame as gorgeous as that.”

_Oh, bother..._

“How ‘bout it, toots? Shall I get us a couple of drinks?” he said with a cocky grin, and then before he could even notice Peggy’s wincing at the word ‘toots,’ he headed for the bar.

_Positively charming,_ she thought sarcastically, but by now she was used to behavior as bewildering as this. Even at the S.S.R. she would on occasion have to deal with demeaning epithets thrown at her by some overly-confident blockhead. Tonight, however, she had neither the time nor the energy to deal with it. She closed her purse, glancing at the sidearm concealed within. The dim lighting and the position of her table had given her opportunity to have it at the ready, but it seemed she would not be needing it after all, not unless Mr. Toots decided to push his luck. Quickly surveying the surrounding tables in a desperate hope her contact might still show up, she noticed no one of interest and was about to leave. And then she saw two liquor-filled glasses on the bar, with her would-be suitor nowhere in sight. Normally, the prospect of getting rid of him that easily would’ve been a welcoming one, yet there was something unnerving about that scene. She instinctively opened her purse to clutch the weapon inside as her eyes flew in saccadic motion across the room. A part of her expected to catch sight of a number of goons closing in on her with firearms in hand. What she definitely did not expect was a soft kiss on her cheek.

“Evening, Peg.”

The sight of Dottie Underwood caught her so off guard she could do nothing but stare in shock as the assassin circled the table to sit across from her. Clad in a form-fitting, midnight blue dress and black evening gloves that complimented the sleeves attire, Dottie stood out as a sharp contrast to her one-time ally. It wasn’t that Peg’s own clothes lacked style or elegance, but the pinstripe blazer and matching skirt were more of an assignment outfit. Dottie on the other hand seemed suited to go to an opera house, or worse – Peggy couldn’t help thinking – a date. Of course none of that mattered when the realization of who just sat before her properly sank in. She deftly moved her gun underneath the tablecloth and cocked it, more out of the need to send a clear message than the thought Underwood might actually try something. The sound, of course, did not go unnoticed.

“Peggy, you wound me, you really do,” Dottie sighed with mock disappointment. “I thought we were past these petty animosities.”

“We would be, but the for the small matter of you being a wanted criminal.”

“Are we really going to let something so trivial get in the way of our budding relationship?”

“We don’t _have_ a--” Peggy paused mid-way as her mind caught up with her. “Dottie... what have you done with--”

“That obnoxious oaf that was pestering you a moment ago? Not to worry, Peg. I took care of him. And you don’t even need to thank me.” The creeping sense of foreboding must’ve been evident on Peggy’s face, judging by Dottie’s amused chuckle. “Oh relax, you silly goose. He’ll live,” she noted with a tone of voice that made it clear she wasn’t too thrilled with the idea. “Honestly, who do you take me for, a cold-blooded killer?”

The tongue-in-cheek comment only managed to draw a sigh of frustration from Carter, though she was relived. Finding someone irritating is a far cry from wanting them dead. The problem was that she wasn’t sure a certain Russian assassin felt the same way. “What is it that you _want_ , Dottie?”

For whatever reason, Dottie froze at those words. She stared vacantly for a few moments before Peg prompted again. “Dottie?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she finally responded. “My mind wandered for a second. Where were we?”

“You were about to tell me why you thought it would be a good idea to waste my time by luring me here under false pretence. Am I supposed to believe that you’re actually willing to divulge information on the Council?”

“I assure you, Peg, my intentions are entirely honest. You’ll get what you came for, trust me.”

“Dorothy Underwood, I wouldn’t trust you to hit the ground if you fell out of a window. In fact, I have half a mind to arrest you right now.” This was of course a lie, since apprehending someone as dangerous with this many civilians about would be foolish at best. But this attempted display of power didn’t seem to faze the other woman much.

“Oh, Peg, you are a hoot,” Dottie giggled. “There is really no reason for such hostility, my motives are quite genuine. Of course... if you really want to see me _handcuffed_ ,” she said while proffering her joined wrists in a mocking gesture of surrender, “you only need to ask.”

“My god,” Peggy feigned outrage at the implication as she glanced around to see if anyone was looking at them, “there is truly no end to your--”

“Generosity? Resourcefulness? Brilliance?”

“I was thinking ‘depravity’...”

“Oh, well I guess that’s also true. Still, I seem to remember you being rather fond of that side of me. If memory serves, last time you and I were all alone--”

“Temporary loss of critical faculties,” Peggy quickly interrupted with a louder tone of voice. “Poor judgment brought on by head trauma, that’s all it was.”

“Is that right?” Dottie flashed a grin. “I can’t rightly recall you having any head injury. And I did a fairly... thorough... _examination_.”

“I’ve had enough of this,” Carter returned sharply while standing up.

“Leaving already, Peg? You know I always hate to see you go. To be honest, I much prefer watching you come.”

“Keep your... ” Peg shot back just as loud, only to notice they have already attracted a few glances. She sat back down, hoping that would at least draw less attention than her storming out. “Keep your voice down. And for the love of god, would you stop--” she paused mid-sentence upon seeing how endlessly amusing Dotty was finding her behavior.  “It’s all fun and games for you, isn’t it?”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. But I do find that blush of yours positively endearing.”

“I am _not_ blushing.”

“Of course not, I’m sorry. It must be the lighting in here,” Dottie assuaged, but there was nothing assuaging about that undertone. In fact, Peg found it positively vexing just how much the other woman was implying on the top of what she was implicitly saying.

“Speaking of light,” Peggy made a desperate segue, “why don’t you enlighten me with the information you so generously promised.”

“Uh, Peg, please. Must we ruin this nice reunion of ours with talk of work?”

“We most absolutely do.”

“Oh, alright you sourpuss. But...” Dottie leaned closer to whisper, “it _has_ been my experience that business goes by far more smoothly when mixed with pleasu--”

“Dottie!”

“Fine, fine... Well... As it happens, your recent inquires have come to my attention. Now, as far I know, word of it hasn’t yet spread to anyone you’d need to be concerned about. But... if you continue down that path, your fortune _will_ change.”

“And how exactly did you find out?” Peggy prompted, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. During the whole course of her investigation of the Council, she had gone above and beyond in making sure her search went undetected.

“Well, I _may_ have – on very rare occasions, of course – kept tabs on--”

“You’ve been following me!”

“More akin to watching over--”

“Oh, rubbish!”

This time it was Dottie’s turn to sigh in frustration. “Peg... you’re going about this all wrong. You’re  working under the assumption you’re after the same men. But there are circumstances of which you’re unaware. Their goals have shifted, and their means...” the assassin trailed off and then did something a tad bizarre. She almost imperceptibly flinched as her hand flew to her neck as if from a momentary jolt of pain, or more probably a memory of it. The very next moment she was back to normal, as loosely as that term could be applied in her case. “I... came to warn you, Peg. This silly little quest of yours is pointless. I’m sure the S.S.R. has a wealth of other cases that would benefit from your attention. I really do advise you to turn your attention elsewhere.”

“Is that it then, a vague warning from your new employer? And I suppose this is the part where I am to quake in fear?”

Contrary to what Carter expected, there was no cynical response, nor – as best she could tell – any kind of deceit. Instead, Dottie looked on with what could only be described as understated awe. “I know better than to try intimidating someone like you, Peggy Carter,” she spoke softly. They stared at each other, neither woman speaking or moving. A few moments later, Dottie broke the silence. “I can’t force you to take my advice, but you should at least consider it.” She paused as if to say something further, but seemed to change her mind and then rose from the table. “I hope we meet again soon,” she said, and with only a hint of that previous playfulness blew Peggy a kiss. Then she was gone.

 

*

 

For an admittedly bad idea, it was going surprisingly well. Stalking Dottie in hope of finding out what she was up to was certainly ill-advised, but the moment Dottie left the bar, Peggy realized this might be her best chance to delve into Council’s affairs. Consequently, she found herself on Underwood’s trail as the woman made her way through the city, doing her best to avoid being seen. And apart from one time when Dottie suddenly turned around to almost catch sight of her pursier, she was succeeding.

It was easy to come up with quite a few reasons of why she ought to turn back, but for every qualm she had, two justifications would follow suit. She couldn’t _really_ call for backup, this _was_ probably the only opportunity she would have, she _was_ fairly certain she wouldn’t be caught, and there _was_ the likelihood of Dottie revealing – if nothing else – at least another underling of her enemy, an associate, a contact. The sum total was that the potential benefits far outweighed possible negative consequence. So it was with some disappointment that the end of the line didn’t turn out to be a Council meeting place or something in the similar vein, but a building that looked like an insalubrious hotel.

Dottie entered the place, and for a brief moment Peg thought about abandoning her quest. But her investigative spirit would not lay the matter to rest. The chances of learning anything with Dottie still in her room were slim. And yet, slim was a far better prospect than her luck had so far allowed.

Inside the lobby, Peg headed straight for the reception were she expected to either bribe the receptionist or resort to less palatable means of acquiring information. Luckily, there was no need for flirting as the man behind the counter was too busy snoring the paint off the walls to even notice she was there. Careful so as not to wake him up, Peg pried open the guestbook and quickly scanned for a familiar name. ‘Dottie Underwood’ yielded no results, but then another alias caught her attention.

_Ah, so we’re going by ‘Ida Emke’ again, are we? Room... 47._

Taking the stairs seemed like the safer bet, so after quickly placing the guest book in its original position, Peg did just that. Several floors later, she found herself in front of her dubious destination. Leaning close to the door afforded her no insights as to what, if anything, was happening in the room. Just as she was about give up and leave, the faint sound of a bathtub being filled reached her.

_Perfect._

A minute or two to ensure Dottie was indeed indisposed, and Peg quickly opened her purse, taking out a bobby pin. The idea of picking a lock with one of those was beyond silly of course. Luckily, Stark had tinkered this one into a veritable tool of burglary. Not that any proper S.S.R. agent would ever to resort to such nefarious activities. But these were simply... extraordinary circumstances. Lives at stake and all that. So with a few quick motions of her tool, Carter was treated to a telltale click of an opened door. She snuck her way inside, keeping an eye on the door to the far right of her. Slightly ajar, but from what she could tell there was no immediate danger.

_Alright then._

First drawer of the nearby cupboard, second, third – nothing. No hidden correspondence behind the two paintings, no suspect items in the armoire. The only thing remotely curious in an otherwise spartan room was a pair of handcuffs attached to the bedpost. Hardly a wealth of incriminating evidence pointing towards the Council. No sooner had Peggy began thinking about leaving so as not to push her luck than did another telltale click reach her ear, this time of a handgun right behind her being cocked.

“Well, well, well...”

_Oh, bloody hell._

”You know Peg, when I expressed my hope in meeting you again soon, I didn’t exactly mean tonight. And while I always enjoy seeing you, I’m afraid I don’t appreciate this invasion of my privacy. Turn around now.”

Muscle memory is an amazing thing. Do something enough and it becomes second nature. The numerous times Peggy did this during her training were all but lost in the haze of distant past. But the body remembers. An ever-so-slow move to lull the assailant into a false sense of security, followed by a short swivel towards the weapon and a sharp strike to the forearm.

Dottie didn’t know what hit her, and making use of the opportunity Peg tried to follow up with an elbow knock out. Unfortunately, she underestimated the assassin’s own training. Dottie blocked her strike with her left arm, to then quickly try landing one of her own. Peg only barely managed to evade. They were soon locked in an even struggle, each woman neither giving an inch nor coming up on top. In no time at all, the room was littered with broken glass of a mirror (Peg’s head was still buzzing from it) woodwork from a shattered night table and an armoire door. It soon became clear to the S.S.R. agent that there was no way for her to gain an advantage over her opponent. After that initial moment of inattention, Dottie parried with ease every direction of attack; she was simply too good in anticipating what was coming. And that – Peg finally realized – was her only means of ending this.

With a swift few strikes that Dottie predictably blocked, Peg closed the distance between then. Then instead of going for another hit, she grabbed Dottie and kissed her, hard. The assassin stared wide-eyed for only a second before pushing her away, but by then it was too late. She stumbled backwards as if to reach for the door, only to collapse weakly to the ground.

Peg smirked contently as she headed for her purse. The ‘Sweet dreams’ lipstick was such a useful little tool. Now the only thing that was left was to handcuff Dottie (Peggy tried her best to avoid thinking of Dottie’s earlier offer along those lines), and have her taken in. The problem was that by the time reinforcements arrived, the other woman would most likely be awake. And hands tied or not, Dottie was a force to be reckoned with, even at gunpoint. So Carter opted for the safer choice. She dragged the unconscious woman a few feet over, intending  to tie her to a post of the bed footboard. But before she could even think about finally drawing a sigh of relief, the apparently alert Dottie grabbed her arm, pulled it behind between the bars and locked the other cuff to Peg’s hand.

Carter stared dumfounded as the realization she was now tied to the bed with her worst enemy sank in. Her eyes flew from the handcuffs to Dottie’s amused face, as if to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.

No such luck.

She sank to the floor, resigned to the dreadful nature of her circumstance and kicking herself for getting herself in this mess. And if that was not enough, Dottie chimed in as well.

“Oh my,” the assassin uttered with a slow, teasing cadence. “We’re in trouble now, aren’t we?”


	2. Chapter 2

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Whatever gave you that idea, Peggy dear?”

Peggy always liked planning ahead. From the most detailed layouts of every possible contingency in her S.S.R. related missions, to a mental checklist of daily errands followed by some leisure time, spent either through simple requiescence, chatting with Angie over a cup of tea or a polite but pointless refusal to indulge Mr. Jarvis’ latest cooking bout. At times she’d deviate from these to a greater or lesser extent, but at no point did her mental itinerary contain ‘Saturday night – being chained to a bed with Dottie Underwood.’ Well, Peggy was nothing if not adaptable. Though it certainly would’ve helped if she didn’t have to deal with--

“That irritating smirk.”

“Not a smirk, Peg – a _smile_. I can’t help it, I guess you just bring it out of me.”

Not worth it. There was simply no use responding to the little jabs and taunts. The only sensible course of action was to ignore her for as long--

“What on Earth would posses you to get us into this situation?!”

“Spur of the moment,” Dottie explained with a light chuckle. “Also, I am a _big_ fan of irony. I mean, here you are, ready to handcuff--”

“Yes, Dorothy, I’m quite familiar with the concept, thank you.”

“Oh don’t grouse, Peg, it’s so unbecoming. It’s all well and good when I’m the one to be deprived of freedom, but when you find yourself in similar circumstance...”

“You are the criminal here, are you not?”

“Hmmm... there have been rumors to that effect, but I wouldn’t put much stock in them if I were you. Personally, I’d rather describe myself as the _adventurous_ sort.”

The playful glide of her fingers over Peggy’s shoulder only further clarified her meaning, but Carter quickly slapped her hand away.

“Stop that.”

“Come now, Peg. Isn’t it better to play nice instead of opting for a fight every time?”

“ I was defending myself.”

“I do believe that was my part,” Dottie noted. “What _you_ did – is break in here.”

“I was doing my job. And wasn’t it you that sent the letter?”

“Only with your interest in mind. And because I thought you’d be happy to see me.”

“I’m always happy to see you, Dottie,” Peg feigned affection for a moment to then harshly conclude, “Especially behind prison bars.”

Predictably enough, this only seemed to amuse the assassin even more. “I take it back, Peggy. Not a hoot, you’re  a hoot and a half.”

“I’m glad you’re entertained,” came the sarcastic retort. “Now if you’re quite finished basking in the irony of the situation, perhaps you’d like to help me move this--”

It was at that moment that Carter glanced down and realized unending torment must be what destiny had in store for her. A moment ago, her predicament seemed easily solvable. All they had to do was push the bed toward the center of the room where her purse – and handcuff keys – lay just beyond reach. But of course there had to be a problem.

“Dottie...” she sighed in resignation, not even sure if she wished to hear the answer. “Why _... why_ on earth is the bed bolted to the floor?”

“Oh!” Dottie exclaimed with blatantly transparent surprise and shock. “Well would you look at that?! I guess the owners don’t think too highly of their guests here. It might have something to do with the fact that this establishment is frequented by rather unscrupulous individuals, even...” she paused dramatically, glanced towards the door and then whispered. “mercenaries and assassins!”

“Oh, that’s rich! You planned this, didn’t you?”

“Planned it?!” Dottie cried out, this time genuinely surprised. “You followed me here!”

“Please. You practically lured me, with your ‘I work for the Council but cannot tell you anything about it’ nonsense”

“Peg, if you _were_ lured here, it certainly wasn’t by the prospect of learning information. Just admit it: you’re drawn to me.”

“You--! I--! Wh--” Peg gasped one unfinished word after another. “Of all the preposterous things I’ve ever--”

“I can’t really blame you. We’re one of a kind, you and I. We fit so well together – like yin and yang. Me naughty, you nice...”

“I, a federal agent – you, a criminal?”

“Oh, sure. Paint me as the villain. Need I remind you that it you who broke me out of prison? And need I--”

“No, you really do not. My memory serves me quite well, thank you very much.”

“I am _so_ glad you said that, Peg. Because I’d be utterly _devastated_ to think you’d forgotten any of our time together.”

“Most of which I’ve come to regret,” Carter tried sidestepping this line of conversation. But of course it was for naught.

“Well,” Dottie responded without a hint of indignation. “As long as _you’ve come,_ that’s all that matters.”

Peggy lightly shook her head at the taunt, biting the inside of her lip to keep the nascent smile at bay. Hopefully the look of bored frustration she was trying to project wouldn’t be too transparent.

“There’s just no winning with you, is there?”

“You should know that by now, Peg.”

“Yes, I suppose I should,” she played along. “And what I’d also like to know is what exactly is your plan now. Shall we starve to death here?”

“Don’t be so dramatic. I’m sure we’ll eventually find a way out of our predicament. But if during that time we were to _bond_ some m--”

“N-no! No, we won’t! Now I’m sure someone will eventually come to--”

“Where exactly do you think you are, Peg? The Hilton? I wouldn’t hold my breath for room service, or any other visitation for that matter. I’ve made it clear I’d hate to be disturbed.”

“Fine, just – fine. Then I’ll scream until someone--” Peggy tried, increasingly desperate and out of options, but one glance at the other woman made it clear how pointless that course of action would also be. _Of course it would. Of course!_ Knowing Dottie, she had probably forced every other guest out, at gunpoint. If the run-down place even had any guests to begin with. To say frustration was starting to get the better of her would be an understatement. “Ugh, this is all just so... so... !”

“Convenient?” Dottie chimed in. “You know, I was just thinking the same thing. Try as we might, it would seem destiny simply wants us together.”

“I make my own destiny, Dottie _._ And I’m leaving, if I have to drag both you and the bed out with me.”

“That would be quite a sight,” Dottie chuckled. “What _would_ the people think though?”

Peggy ignored that. She was set on leaving, and to hell with the Council and Dottie. She scanned the room for anything that might help, but the spartan way in which it was arranged was not making things easy. In fact, the only possible solution was her handbag, which was lying well out her reach. But perhaps--

“Dottie...”

“Yes, dearest?”

 _Don’t._ “Perhaps you’d deign to be of some actual help, if it isn’t too much trouble?”

“Perhaps I could,” Dottie noted with disinterest. “But I’m comfortable right where I am. Now if I had a _reason..._ You know what I say, Peg – a little incentive goes a long way.”

 _Why do I even bother?_ “Is this the part where I have to say ‘please’?”

Dottie shot her a satisfied smirk, like a spider that just caught its fly. “Not at all.” Before Peg could even think of reacting, Dottie deftly moved over to straddle her legs. The one reaction that did come was too late, as the assassin preemptively grabbed her hand to press it against the bed post. Now that they were face to face, Peg became all too aware of what she’d unwittingly been ignoring since she got here: Dottie wore nothing but a bath robe.

 _Oh this is just all so bloody... convenient,_ she winced at echoing Dottie’s words.

“I’ve already heard you beg before, Peggy,” Dottie whispered over her lips. “ _Now_... I’m interested in something else. I’ll get the bag, and all you have to do – is order me.”

“What? Are you serious?”

“Deadly,” came Dottie’s response, as her eyes suggestively dipped down to Peggy’s mouth.

“Fine,” Peg sighed. She wasn’t quite sure what this was about but the solution seemed easy enough. “Get the bag – now.”

“Pathetic,” Dottie huffed a laugh. “One more chance, and then I think I’ll be thoroughly uninterested in helping you..”

It must’ve been at least several minutes during which they just stared at each other; it certainly felt like that for Peg. Trying to figure out this particular opponent of hers was a fruitless endeavor, that much she knew. And she had by now largely gotten used to the taunts and the insinuations, even if she sometimes felt it prudent to pretend otherwise. Yet, there was something about this request that she wasn’t entirely comfortable with. On the surface, it felt simple enough; just an order to get Dottie to help. But her instinct told her there was more to it. If felt like a chess move, a stratagem whose end purpose she was ill-equipped to foresee. True or false, there seemed to be no other way out.

 Her hand slipped free of Dottie’s now-slackened grasp, to then gently clasp her neck. Fingers entwined with silky tresses, eyes looking deeply into those of the woman before her, she gave the command with a slow, determined tone of voice:

“Dottie... I want you to get the bag for me.”

For a brief instant she thought her attempt had failed, that the phrasing was wrong, that the hint of uncertainty she felt came through. This would be the moment Dottie would chuckle in contempt before moving away. Instead...

Dottie’s lips curved into a rakish smile, eyes filled with amused awe. A soft cooing sound came from her throat, voicing pleasure akin to slipping into warm bath. Whatever it was that she had hoped to get out of this, Peggy clearly provided it.

She leaned in just a bit, as if for a kiss, but then moved past to whisper into Peggy’s ear:

“ _Whatever you want, Peg._ ”

Her breath brought an unsettlingly pleasurable tingle up Peggy’s spine, but there was no reaction to this that seemed at all appropriate; at least none she could think of. So she watched Dottie pull back, and move off of her. For whatever reason, the bizarre moment felt strangely akin to being caught doing something embarrassing in public.  At least it’s over, she told herself.

Looking askance, she saw Dottie waiting for her with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh! Right...” she mouthed awkwardly, and slipped her hand between the bars as far as it could go. This provided Dottie with some leeway, and the Russian stretched as far as she could to reach for the bag with her leg. Of course, this only brought further attention to what Dottie wore. Peggy’s glanced down unwittingly, for a moment absorbed by the sight of those long, smooth and--

 _Get ahold of yourself, for god’s sake!_ she reprimanded herself. There were so many other things in the room whom staring at would not be entirely, _entirely,_ inappropriate. Like the ceiling, yes – a fascinating thing, the peeling paint, traces of mold, quite lovely. And definitely far more interesting than Dottie’s legs, as infuriatingly perfect as they were.

“I’m sorry, Peg,” Dottie drew her attention back. “I wasn’t able to reach it.”

“Oh... well, I... I’m certain you tried your best.” And she was.

“I suppose I’m just not limber enough...”

“Oh, please,” Peggy scoffed. “You have many flaws, Dottie, but _that_ is not one of--” _Oh, dear god,_ she cursed herself and her mouth but it was too late and Dottie’s gleeful grin told her as much.

“I am so glad you find my physique appealing. A girl always likes to hear a compliment.”

“I was merely stating facts,” Carter tried sounding stern.

“Of course,” Dottie nodded with mock seriousness. “Well if you ever again feel the urge to state some more facts whenever you’re around me, feel free.”

“Duly noted. Now... now we should, um...”

“Yes?”

“We should come up with something else. And I don’t suppose you’d like to contribute with some idea on--”

“I doubt you’d want to hear about the ideas I’m having right now--”

“On getting out this!”

“Oh, none of those, no,” Dottie chuckled.

It was then that the proverbial light bulb lit up in Peggy’s mind: she was chained to the bed with _the_ Dottie Underwood. How did she not see this before?

“Dottie...” she started with suspicious glare.

“Yes, dearest?”

“First – stop calling me that. Second, do the words ‘maximum security’ ring any bells?”

Dottie canted her eyes up and to the right, as if trying her best to remember.

“Hm... vaguely.”

“Vaguely?! You--!” Peg shot back angrily before reigning her emotions in. “I believe your exact words in that cell were ‘leaving on my own terms’. You’ve even found a way to counteract the effect of my lipstick. And now you expect me to believe you’re stumped by a pair of handcuffs?”

“Well, these _are_ particularly tricky to unlock...”

“Get us out of this, Dottie!”

“Peg, my plans usually involve snapping a guard’s neck and then improvising from there. And I’m much too fond of yours to follow in those footsteps. What do you expect me to do?”

Peggy glared at her for any sign of insincerity, but she knew lying was second nature to the Russian woman, so it was entirely pointless. “I know you can do something.”

“I do admire your faith in my abilities, but stubbornness is not an attractive trait. Besides, it is really so bad being stuck here with me?”

“The worst.”

“Aw, now who’s lying?”

 

*

 

“Peg...”

“It’s ‘agent Carter’ to you.”

“Is it now?” Dottie grinned. “Very well then, _agent Carter._ I realize you’re a bit angry with me, but I feel I must point out a fair share of this oh-so-unfortunate situation is your fault.”

“Well of course _you’d_ say that,” Peggy responded, her voice now simmering down to mild annoyance.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re a criminal, Dottie. Taking responsibility for your actions is an entirely foreign notion, I’d wager. I wouldn’t put it past you to shoot someone and then blame them for not ducking fast enough.”

“Now you’re just deflecting, Peg. Is it really so hard to admit why you came here?”

“I came here because it is my _duty._ ”

“I’m sure that’s what you tell yourself. Yet you’re not quite the paragon of virtue that you would like others to believe, are you?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re on about,” Peggy returned, her eyes firmly locked to wall in front so as to avoid looking at her. But Dottie was having none of that.

Fast enough to preempt any response, she moved over to straddle Peggy once again, making it difficult for Carter to keep avoiding her gaze.

“Oh you _espouse_ all this nonsense... duty this, morality that, but when it comes down to it, you’re not above getting your hands dirty and breaking a few rules. More than a few, in fact. You may come off as an angel, but... your wings are made of glass. All it takes is the right person, the right _touch..._ and soon you’re as sinful as the rest of us.”

“I do what I have to, Dottie. But far be it from me to lecture you on moral--”

“You didn’t _have to_ break out a convicted criminal and enemy of the state, did you? You _wanted_ to. In fact, to elicit my help, you went so far as to--”

” _That_ meant nothing.”

“Liar!” Dottie hissed, some sliver of indignation and despair flashing in her eyes. “It meant everything. But I guess honesty isn’t among your many virtues.”

“That’s rich, Dottie, coming from you. Your _whole life_ is shrouded in deceit. I doubt you’ve ever even--”

“You’re deflecting again, Peg,” Dottie interrupted in calmer tone of voice whilst moving slightly back as if to better examine Carter.  “No matter, you are right. I have been dishonest. Masks off then.” She leaned back down again, her eyes the only thing Peggy could see. “I think you’re a goddess. A valkyrie among mortals. But I watch the way you lead your life and I can’t help feeling disappointed. You say you make your own destiny, yet every day you follow orders and obey rules. And for what? For who? Those _men?_ ” she spat out in disgust. “The vermin who has the gall to look down on some like you, instead of groveling at your feet as they should be? You’re better than them, all of them. And should you so wish... a mere word from you and I’d be glad to _reacquaint them_ with the fact.”

“No,” Peggy responded steadily, a hint of that dominant undertone reappearing. She was still taken aback by the sentiment, but she could leave no doubt as to whether she wanted Dottie doing anything on her behalf. “Dottie, I... I don’t know what bizarre excuse for a romance you have envisaged--”

“Not a romance, Peg. That’s not what this is, that’s not what _we are._ ”

Surprised to feel her veil of animosity gone, all Peggy could do is voice what was on her mind: “And what are we?”

Dottie closed her eyes as she leaned her forehead against’ Peggy’s, her lopsided grin the last thing Carter saw before the whisper came. “We’re the answer to the question, Peg – what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object.”

Whatever the nascent response from Peggy was, the brush of Dottie’s lips against hers rendered it meaningless. So unlike their forced nature of their previous encounters, yet she found herself just as powerless to resist a kiss so gentle. And the absolute last thing she expected was for Dottie to stop in her stead.

She pulled back with a curious expression, merely watching, waiting.

“I don’t...” Peggy trailed off, too uncomfortable to keep her eyes on the other woman. “ I don’t know what you want from me.”

Dottie slowly tilted her chin up, for their gazes to meet again. ”Many things,” she told, this time with no snide undertone. “But for now, an admission will do. Tell me you want me.”

 “I don’t,” Carter shot out without a second thought, and for a moment, Dottie’s smile made her think she’d inadvertently told the truth instead.

“Oh, Peg... no sweeter lie.” She leaned in for another kiss, but this time Peggy’s hand stopped her mid-way.

 _No,_ Peggy thought. She should be stopping this. This was Dottie Underwood, a criminal and a killer. All semblance of sanity must’ve abandoned her to let it get this far. This cannot continue.

“Has it never occurred to you that the only time we’re... close,” Peggy spoke out defensively, “is when I am at some disadvantage or another?”

“Oh, that again,” Dottie mused. “As a matter of fact I have wondered – what would you do if there was nowhere left to run?”

“Run? What are you--”

She stopped mid-sentence as Dottie pulled a hairpin from her tresses, and in mere seconds after reaching over, the sound of unlocked handcuffs came to her with all the suddenness of gunshot.

“There,” Dottie noted, “free as a bird.” She removed the shackle from her own wrist as Peggy stared in utter shock, then rose to her feet.

For a surreal few moments, Peg considered her options. Part of her wanted to lash out at being kept here for some maddening reason, yet the compulsion was quickly set aside when her eyes glanced at the bag on the carpet. Half open, with the gleam of the weapon concealed within, it proved an enticing choice but for a small problem: Dottie was closer to it. And Peg couldn’t for the life of her figure out what the other woman’s intentions were. Should she leave? Should she arrest her? Would she even get the chance? Maybe this was all a game and one move toward the gun would cause Dottie to grab it and turn it on her. But as she briefly pondered the best course of action, Dottie dropped the handcuffs that landed on the floor with dull thud, then crossed her arms and leaned on the wall, as if her only interest lay in what Peggy chose to do next.

Eyes locked onto Dottie, Peg made way to the center of the room, half-certain the trip would end with the barrel of the gun in her face. And yet, the moment of opportunity passed. A second later, she was the one closer to it, and as she pulled the weapon out and aimed it at Dottie, she was surprised to see her as immovable as she seemed unconcerned.

_This is it then._

Regardless of what had happened, or what could’ve happened, duty always came first. And as much as she wished it were not so, Dottie was a criminal; her place behind bars.

“Dottie... I’m placing you under arrest.”

Just as she expected, Dottie only smirked at the words. “Are you now?”

This didn’t feel right. Why couldn’t she shake the feeling Dottie somehow still had the upper hand? “Yes. If... if you come along quietly, I guarantee that--”

“No,” came the insouciant response, to which Peg couldn't help smiling in amazement.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, Peg. I’ve no interest in coming along, quietly or otherwise. There’s only so much boredom a woman can handle, and I think I’ve had my share of staring at cell walls for quite a while. However... I’ll gladly entertain any other proposal you may have,” she concluded with an impish glare.

“Proposal?! Dottie... I don’t think you’re grasping the circumstance of the situation. It’s over. Now, there is no need for this to escalate--”

“Oh but I think it will, Peg – _one way or another._ ”

The first step put forth made Peggy think she would lunge at her with all the ferocity of a trained assassin. But with apparently no interest in attacking, Dottie ever-so-slowly began walking towards her.

“Dottie, I’m warning you... take one more step--”

But she did take it. And another. And another. In fact, without knowing it, Peg began pulling back, mirroring Dottie’s advance step by step until she felt herself hit the wall. It was exactly the same, she realized. Only, there was no locked cell door that prevented her escape, no wound that would impede her self-defense. Oh... and the gun. The gun that for some reason felt utterly useless.

“If you come any closer, I’ll--”

“You’ll do what, _agent Carter?_ Shoot an unarmed woman? No... that’s not you. Paragon of virtue, remember? You would never hurt someone powerless, vulnerable...

“Dottie, just stop.” _Please._

In lieu of what she thought was acquiescence, Peg watched Dottie pause only to untie her bathrobe, which quickly fell behind her as she stood before Peggy in the nude, utterly unconcerned for someone staring at the barrel of a gun.

Slowly, as if to make her intentions abundantly clear, she clasped Peggy’s hands and aimed the weapon right at her own heart.

“But whatever your choice, I’d hate for you to miss me.”

The double meaning was not lost on Peg, but neither was her own indecisiveness. She knew exactly what she ought to do. What she wanted... was an entirely different matter. It was so much easier when there was no choice, when the door was locked and excuses easy to come by. She loathed the feeling, the clash between emotion and reason where neither prevailed. And all because of Dottie, who put her in this position. Part of her hated the Russian woman for it. Another part... it was something Peggy would neither name nor admit to. And since reason alone was proving of no use in deciding, perhaps instinct was the better choice.

With a practiced move that caught Dottie by surprise, Peg pulled her in with no warning, only to use the momentary loss of balance to twist the arm behind her back as she pinned her to the wall.

Dottie glanced back at Carter as much her position would allow, trying to meet her gaze while Peggy adamantly avoided hers.

“Peg, what do you think you’re doin-- ugh!” she grunted in pain as Peg twisted her arm even more.

_Losing my bloody mind, probably._

Peg leaned closer, the gun in her hand all but forgotten.

“Did I say you could talk?” she warned, voice tinged with the indignant anger she felt over all of Dottie’s games that had led to this. She had half a mind to devise some form of punishment for the Russian woman, but even now she knew Dottie was on some level enjoying herself, regardless of pain or discomfort. Punishment would be entirely lost on someone like her.

She flung the gun into the nearest corner, knowing Dottie wouldn’t try anything. Despite the veil of pretense, they were both exactly where they wanted to be.

Her eyes caressed the naked body before her, absorbing each elegant line and subtle curve. Dottie truly did seem weak, vulnerable, and this only angered Carter further. Every last bit of her was deceit, from a whispered word to a delicate hand. And she had the gall to call Peggy a liar?

The urge to bite into the pale skin was a strong one, but it felt so foreign; like a seed planted in her by this damnable woman. So she ignored it, instead placing a kiss on the column of Dottie’s neck. The height difference made it slightly awkward, but it didn’t matter, Peggy’s interest lay further down. Her lips set a lascivious path down the shoulder, as her free hand caressed Dottie’s side; traveling ever-so-slowly down, mapping every divine inch. Now that Dottie knew her place, she released her hand and pulled slightly back, only to give herself space in cupping her breast. A soft coo slipped from Dottie’s lips, then morphing into a surprised yelp when Peg squeezed her nipple as a warning: You might get pleasure out of this, but it will come with some deserved pain as well.

Right hand caressed the deceptive softness of Dottie’s behind, then making its way to her nether region. The soft hair gave way to her heated entrance, and Peggy cracked a smug little smile at the nascent wetness found therein. The one thing Dottie couldn’t hide, she found. The only thing that was not a lie. She slipped a finger inside, Dottie’s startled exhale the immediate response. For a merciless assassin, she seemed strangely... responsive. Peg fully expected an amused yet ultimately unaffected air about her, but for whatever reason, this was getting to her.

 _Perhaps it’s me,_ she mused inwardly, relishing the notion of being the only one who could ever elicit such a response from Dottie Underwood. Perhaps there really was no winning with her, Peg remembered earlier words, but the way Dottie seemed more deliciously  vulnerable with each passing second certainly made for some kind of victory. The stifled gasps as Peg massaged her breast, the ill-concealed undulation of her hips to meet those skilled fingers.

 _Oh yes... I have you now,_ she concluded with satisfaction, adding another digit into Dottie’s silky folds. Dottie moaned at the ingress, and Peg was quick to painfully tweak her nipple in response.

 _Utterly shameful..._ Behavior unfit for a lady. How fortunate that Peg was there to punish each wanton transgression.

The libidinous dance continued, Dottie’s gradual loss of composure mirrored by Peggy’s satisfaction at the sight of it. Each sibilant moan was music to her ears, each sound of wetness an obscene award for her effort. But more than that she enjoyed the role reversal, making Dottie weak, _making her wet_ , feeding on the control she had over her. She did not fail to notice her own mounting arousal, but that was something she would worry about later. Now, the disheveled mess of woman that was Dottie in throes of lust was the only thing on her mind. Part of her wanted to tease, just as mercilessly as she was teased in that damn cell. The desire to see Dottie completely come undone prevailed.

She read her body’s cues, teasing Dottie’s clit with her thumb, in sync with the fingers insider her, and the massaging hand on breast. She read her well enough to notice the precipice, from which a few simple strokes pushed Dottie into a free fall. A keening groan torn from the Russian woman’s lips, she voiced her climax without restraint; legs failing her as the pain from her breast and the pleasure from her sex collided to bring her to the edge of consciousness. Peg held her through it, and only when Dottie’s breathing began to slow did she place one last kiss on her shoulder, an ironically gentle coup de grâce to the mind-numbing ecstasy.

When she pulled back and Dottie turned to face her, she fully expected another jest or a taunt, which Dottie apparently never ran out of. But there was no insincere playfulness when Dottie finally spoke: “I guess this makes us even... and we can’t have that, can we?”

All attention on Peg, her eyes apparently uninterested in blinking, Dottie closed the distance with a hint of a smile on her face; attention then drawn to the clothes Peg still wore. No unrestrained hunger, no raw passion that would not be out of character for her. Instead, she grabbed the blazer with a pause, as if asking for permission. When Peggy said nothing, she proceeded to remove it, the hunger for Carter now only evident in her gaze. Each button of Peg’s shirt was released slowly, and Dottie drank in the skin little-by-little revealed. Her motions were strangely reverential, so unlike the first time they did this. She divested her of each article of clothing – the skirt, the bra, the stockings – as if she’d done it a thousand times before. When at last Peg slipped out of her panties, Dottie’s eyes drifted downward for the first time, as she bit her lip at the enticing sight before her.

Without waiting for a cue, Peg walked over to the bed, feeling (and enjoying) the way Dottie’s eyes devoured her each the step of the way. She only lay on the bed for a moment before Dottie followed suit.

Dottie straddled her supine body, placing the tip of her finger at Peggy’s clavicle. She trailed down slowly, tracing a path between her breasts, over her stomach...

“I remember you,” she whispered. Every contour, every curve, every muscle and each little hair. All of the glorious femininity that was Peggy Carter emblazoned in her mind.

When her finger teasingly stopped at Peggy’s sex, she looked up with a sudden thought.

“Tell me you want me.”

“Never,” Peggy responded predictably, her unrestrained smile betraying the truth. It was all Dottie needed.

With a smile of her own, she drew her finger between the tender folds, the faintest hint of Peggy’s arousal remaining at the tip. Her tongue then tasted her essence, murmuring  in satisfaction as if the flavor brought physical pleasure with it. Then climbing over Peg, she placed a delicate few kisses on her lips, down her neck; descending to slowly retrace her finger’s path. Her lips followed the imaginary line, each touch a promise of things to come. She only veered from the path to playfully lick across Peggy’s left nipple, relishing the gasp elicited. In no time at all (which to Peggy seemed an eternity), she had reached her goal. Inhaling the heady aroma with clear satisfaction, Dottie placed a few exploratory licks up and down the sodden lips of Peggy’s sex, to then move away, leading Peggy to wonder why--

_Oh!_

Dottie’s lips then found yet another purchase, as with intermittent kisses she laved the sensitivity of Peggy’s inner thighs. Everyone had their weak spot, and Dottie apparently had no trouble finding hers.

For her part, Carter tried to withhold from reacting, judging it best not to give Dottie a weapon to be used against her. But the way the Russian woman all but ignored her well of desire in lieu of stimulating adjacent areas was making that particular task rather difficult. In fact it proved utterly pointless when Dottie sucked a harsh kiss from the tender skin, eliciting an immediate and rather embarrassing moan from her lips.

Dottie glanced up with a grin, which Peggy tried her best not to mirror. But biting her inner lip to keep the smile at bay was yet another thing proving to be of no use. Dottie might as well have been reading her mind, if her playful eyes were anything to go by. Luckily for Peg’s mounting shame, the other woman seemed more interested in getting back to the task.

This time she deigned to extend some mercy, giving equal amount of attention to every part of her: Tender kisses on her thighs gave way to lascivious licks of her sex, as she only intermittently laved over the clit.

Her hands snaked underneath Peg’s behind, grasping the curvaceous flesh as if to allow her herself more control over Carter’s body. Whatever hunger Dottie had been keeping at bay now began to return with a vengeance. She pleasured Peg with the utmost abandon, feeding off of the whimpers that came with increasing urgency. When her tongue slithered inside the sodden cove, Peg moaned her approval followed by a shame-filled ‘yes, there!’

Dottie was all-too-happy to acquiesce, voraciously devouring the hapless agent. The scent, the taste, the feel of Peggy’s arousal coating her lips; it brought Dottie as close to ecstasy as a lack of any physical stimulus would allow. But as close to ecstasy as she was, Peggy was in a veritable grip of it.

She drove Dottie on with half-broken words and needy little sounds, teetering on the edge for longer than her sanity would allow; the very sanity she must’ve long since parted with under Dottie’s unrelenting advances. When she came, the pleasure was electrifying. It coursed through her enfeebled body, toying with her consciousness and threatening to deprive her of it. The one thing she remained painfully aware of was the continuing lashing of Dottie’s tongue who stopped only when Peggy’s hoarse plea drove her to it.

At last given some reprieve, Peg basked in the afterglow of her climax under Dottie’s watchful eye. It didn’t make sense the other woman would seem just as satisfied, yet when their gazes met, Dottie appeared just as content, if not more so. And what a sight she made.

Tendrils of hair stuck to the sheen of perspiration on her shoulders, Peg’s essence on her lips and chin, the temporarily sated hunger still smoldering in her eyes. She had a raw, primal look about her and when she casually tried wiping Peg’s arousal with the back of her hand, Peg instinctively grabbed her wrist and pulled her down into a kiss.

She licked her own flavor from Dottie’s skin, the perverse nature of the act keeping long-divested sanity  yet at bay. When they parted, Dottie was the one to break the silence.

“There go your wings.”

“Oh, shut up,” Peg returned with an eye roll and a grin, and reclaimed the lips she wished would stop teasing.

 

 

*

 

 

“Dottie...”

“Shhh...”

“What are you--”

“You trust me, don’t you, Peg?”

“Not in the least.”

“Oh now you’re just trying to hurt my feelings. Give me your hand.”

Peggy acquiesced. She didn’t trust Dottie, not exactly. But as she felt her hands being locked to the headboard with Dottie’s own handcuffs, there was one thing she was absolutely certain of: Never in a million years would Dottie leave her there, tied and naked as she was, for someone else to find. There was a possessiveness to the Russian woman when Peggy was concerned, and she found it flattering and unsettling in equal measure. It was that knowledge, combined with the slowly-ebbing but still present pleasure her body was suffused with, that drove her to the admittedly insane idea of voluntarily relinquishing her freedom.

Whatever Dottie had planned, Peg had every intention of (oh-so reluctantly) going along with it. Unfortunately, it seemed their minds were in two different places.

“I’ll see you in a bit,” she kissed her on the cheek, and went back to resume her bath.

“Wh--?! Dottie!” Peg clanged the cuffs against the metal headboard, but the only response she got was the bathroom door being shut.

A full hour later, or at least what felt like it, Dottie graced her with her presence. Just as naked as she left her, this time Dottie’s hair fell in dripping tendrils down her back, her entire body covered with water drops. Apparently, assassins thought drying off was a waste of time.

“Dottie, I’m not here to play games,” Peg warned, each word laced with agitation.

“No? Why are you here, Peggy?” Before she could even begin concocting some half-believable lie, Dottie walked over, onto the bed and climbed over her, hair dripping across the smooth expanse of Peggy’s skin.

“Uh, Dottie, you’re... all wet.”

“Mmm, yes. It’s funny how that tends to happen when I’m around you.”

 _Oh, for the love of..._ Peg rolled her eyes, even as she felt herself blush at the dubious compliment.

“There was no need to leave me here for--”

“Peg, Peg, Peg... I couldn’t risk you getting some silly ideas like leaving, could I?”

“So you mean to...” Peg trailed off, suddenly aware of the ravenous look Dottie had. “You mean to keep me here forever?”

“Not as long, no. Perhaps a few weeks...” Dottie whispered as she leaned down to her neck.

“Weeks? Dottie, you... you can’t be serious?”

At those words, Dottie pulled back, eyes mischievous, intent unclear.

“Have I ever told you how much I love your accent?”

“You have not,” Peg confirmed with a another amused eye roll born of embarrassment.

 “If only you knew... just the way you pronounce words... it does things to me.”

“Ah, well... the very last thing I’d want is to do things to you.”

“Now, now... we both know that’s not true,” Dottie noted, then voicing a sudden idea: “Peg... say ‘cant’ again.”

“What? No!”

“You’re no fun. But fortunately, I have many methods of persuasion at my disposal.”

Peg barely began her protest before the wet trail of Dottie’s tongue on her body made her reconsider. There will surely be plenty of time for that later.

 

 

*

 

 

When morning came, Peg found herself sitting on the wooden dresser (one of the few things they hadn’t smashed the previous night), with Dottie’s careful hand reapplying the lipstick for her. She had tried telling her it was something she was quite capable of doing by herself, but Dottie seemed adamant.

She drew across her lips with practice ease, the intense focus with which she approached the task making it seem like it was warrior paint she was putting on rather than lipstick.

“Such a shame...” Dottie whispered absentmindedly.

“What is?”

“I believe my little counter-measure to your particular shade of red has worn off by now. I don’t think we’ll be able to part ways _properly._ ”

 _As if there was anything proper about any of this,_ Peg noted with an inward smile.

During those moments it was slowly becoming increasingly difficult to maintain the pretense, to pretend they weren’t still on opposite sides. It was a sense of unease Peg half-believe only she felt, but when Dottie stepped back to look at her, the subsequent glance made it clear they both felt the same. It took her by surprise, somewhat: the notion that even a person like Dottie Underwood can react to something like anyone else would. She wanted to believe Dottie wasn’t all death and bloodshed, that even outside the grip of carnal pleasure, a part of her remained normal; sane.

When Dottie finally was about to leave – with the little possessions she apparently took with her – Peg couldn’t help but try:

“Dottie... you don’t have to do this. Whatever you’re involved with, perhaps...”

Dottie stood at the door with her back turned to Peg, her voice strangely stilted.

“We all have our parts to play, Peg. It would be foolish to pretend otherwise.”

With those words, she left Carter by herself.

 

 

*

 

 

She didn’t realize it at the time, but the table Dottie picked was the same one Peggy and her were sitting at a little over a week ago. If only the company was as enjoyable.

“You blew it, doll.”

Dottie glared at her contact, one of the bumbling lackeys the Council used for these occasions. She hated the type, the kind that was too dumb to be afraid of her. Oh, if only she had the chance...

_You’d never call anyone ‘doll’ again._

“This wasn’t my fault,” she tried holding back the anger. “I’m not the one who leaked the information on--”

“That don’ matter now. He ain’t dead, is he?”

No, the senator certainly wasn’t dead. She had done her part, everything was going smoothly. She even had the good fortune to stumble upon an empty flat that proved perfect for the mission. Sniper rifle at the ready, she was eyeing the entrance of the building through her scope, waiting for her target. Instead: a commotion; people running in and out of the building. She knew something was wrong, but only realized what when several S.S.R. men came out. Among them: Peggy. Of course it would be her.

The rest scattered fairly quickly, but Peg remained there for a few minutes, eyes scanning the surroundings. It might have been the glare of the rifle scope, but for a moment she looked right at Dottie. She wasn’t smiling.

“You listenin’?”

“I heard you,” Dottie squeezed through her teeth, cursing her luck. But it wouldn’t last forever, that much she knew. For better or for worse, all of this will end.

“This is your last chance,” the man said with disinterest, proffering a brown envelope. “You have seventy two hours. After that, well... you know.”

After he left, Dottie looked at the envelope with disdain, and for the first time in her life – trepidation. She emptied the contents, glancing over the file of her target. She looked at the enclosed photograph, her lips curved in a mirthless smile. Destiny, it seemed, was not without a sense of irony. Dottie had always wanted a photo of Peggy.


	3. Chapter 3

Tiny specks of dust swirled lazily in the morning sun. The tendrils of light descended from the windowsill, over the carpet, to then reach for the sleeping form on the bed. If it had been an actual hand, Peg would’ve slapped it away for being impudent enough to wake her so early. As it was, all she could do is groan and turn to the other side. No matter. With a little luck, she’ll soon slip back into dream-filled bliss that was--

“Miss Carter, are you awake?”

_Oh, bother..._

The tentative, muffled voice of Edwin Jarvis that came from the other side of the door didn’t usually invoke an urge to grab the first thing she could find and chuck it across the room, but this time the compulsion was a strong one. Her fellow Brit didn’t make a habit of intruding on her this early for no reason, and seeing how the chance of resuming her dream dwindled by the second, Peg resigned to her woken state. She propped up as her eyes adjusted to the daylight, bidding him to enter.

Mr. Jarvis slowly made his way into the room, walking on proverbial eggshells as though Peggy were still asleep.

“I’m terribly sorry to wake you, Miss Carter--”

“No, no, please...” she waved off his apology. “I was just about to get up. Is something the matter, Mr. Jarvis?”

“Well, it’s about Mrs. Jarvis – Ana,” he went on with apparent unease.  “She... and don’t be alarmed, but she had to be rushed to the hospital.”

Despite the preemptive warning, a sliver of cold fear shot up Peggy’s spine. “Oh my god! What happened?! Is she alright?”

“Yes, yes, of course. As I said – everything is alright now,” he assuaged quickly lest Peg rush out and head for the hospital, which she did have half a mind of doing. “It was a touch of stomach flu as it turned out. She’ll be there for a day or two, just as a precaution, but they assured me there is absolutely nothing to worry about.”

“Oh thank goodness,” she breathed a sigh of relief. The very thought of Ana coming to any harm was unthinkable. The woman was an epitome of kindness, and the safety of her and Angie was always at the back of Peggy’s mind. If anything had happened, if _she_ had been involved... But no... Peg dispelled the intrusive thought with a light head shake. Dottie wouldn’t dare. And Peg took all the precautions to prevent any other person that she had dealt with in her line of work from making the connection and coming after those she cared about.

“Are you going to the hospital now?” she asked as she got up and started rifling through her wardrobe.

“Yes, I’ve only come to pick up certain items and-- Miss Carter, what are you doing?”

“I’m coming with, of course. Just give me a second to find some...”

“Miss Carter...”

“Damn, where is the-- no, not that one...”

“Miss Carter.”

“Ah, here it--”

“Miss Carter!” Jarvis interrupted in a louder tone of voice, which finally drew Peg’s attention. “Your concern is very much appreciated,” he told with a smile, “but I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until tomorrow. Visitation hours are over for the day.”

“Over? Don’t be ridiculous, it’s only...” _two in the afternoon?!_ Clearly both her watch and Mr. Jarvis couldn’t be wrong. “Oh. I... I can’t believe I’ve slept in.”

“It’s quite understandable. Your work for the S.S.R. does take its toll every once in a while.”

“Yes, I suppose it’s true,” Peg agreed with slight discomfort. She hadn’t exactly been painting the town red the night before; it had all been Council-related investigation. But being nestled in her cozy bed while Ana was at the hospital still didn’t sit well with her. “You will give her my love, won’t you?”

“Of course. And you can do as much first thing tomorrow.”

He was about to leave when a sudden curiosity prompted Peg to stop him. “Mr. Jarvis? You said it was stomach flu?”

“Oh, yes – and again, nothing to worry about. Still...” he pondered for a second. “It was the damndest thing. One moment Ana was having her usual morning tea, the next, she doubled over in pain. But all is well that ends well, I suppose.”

“Quite,” Peg agreed, though it was more of an automatic response. Her mind was preoccupied with scenarios and possibilities she soon concluded to be nitwitted and highly unlikely. ‘Margaret Elizabeth Carter, flights of fancy are inappropriate for a young lady,’ her mother used to say. If only that same fancy didn’t end up saving Peg’s life on more than one occasion...

 

*

 

Peg had barely closed the bathroom door when a scream from the floor below reached her. She lunged into her room to grab the gun underneath her pillow, and was silently dashing down the stairs in a matter of seconds. Standing at the kitchen entrance with her weapon at the ready, she peeked inside to assess the nature of the threat. Fortunately, the danger turned to be rather feathery. And pink.

Howard Stark’s pet flamingo was poking his head through the window, with a startled Angie clutching her heaving bosom beside him. Peg breathed a sigh of relief as she placed the gun in the pocket of her hung coat before going to shoo away the fluffy menace. Still trying to catch her breath, Angie nodded in gratitude.

“God... I swear that thing will be the death of me. Can you imagine, English? ‘Death by poultry’ being listed in your death certificate?”

“I think Howard prefers that he be called Bernard,” Peg chuckled.

“Oh to hell with him. It’s a damn zoo out there! Honestly, I’m starting to regret staying here.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not” Angie smiled her agreement. “ But there aren’t any tigers around, are there?”

“Not that I’m aware of. Though the tortoise does have a rather mean bite.”

“Good to know. Speaking of which, have a seat. I’ll fix up something nice for you.”

Peg’s token refusal to have Angie dote on her while staying in Stark’s manor proved immediately pointless, and no amount of insisting a breakfast that bountiful was unnecessary (‘Oh, hush, what do you know about what’s necessary’) made a lick of difference. In a startlingly short amount of time, Peg was surrounded by healthy batch of French toast with syrup, coupled with kiwi, strawberries, raspberries, orange juice, coffee and tea (‘Not a word out of you, English!’) . Angie clearly felt she had to repay the hospitality in some manner, and since the only person more stubborn when it came to cooking privileges was Mr. Jarvis, she jumped at the opportunity.

Thence the conversation veered toward what had happened with Mrs. Jarvis. Angie sat by Peg’s side in her millefleur dress, emphatically nodding to each worry-laden thought Peg shared. Carter was loth to show the true extent of concerns, but either way, Angie’s innate positivism was too infectious. Between gentle prodding toward taking another bite and relaying the specifics of Ana’s latest sartorial undertaking, she managed to put Peg’s mind sufficiently at ease. Just as Peg was close to finishing her meal, it was becoming apparent Angie had some news to share, having been clearly struggling to withhold them in light of a serious topic. But now that they’d drifted into a more lighthearted conversation, Peg wanted to hear what this was about.

“Alright,” Angie relented, “but you might need to... hm, lie down, I guess? Sitting might not be sufficiently--”

“Oh out with it already,” Carter demanded amiably.

Angie leaned over in a comically conspiratorial manner, glancing at the kitchen entrance and then back at windows.

“Well, you remember Carol, from the Griffith?”

Carter paused, until the name linked up with the face of the girl she remembered from the boarding house back in New York. “Is she the one who had smuggled a chicken to her room in a sweater?”

“The very same,” Angie chuckled in reply. “She recently phoned me with a fairly interesting nugget of information.”

“Oh?”

“Apparently, Miriam Fry, bless her ill-tempered heart, has caught Lorraine and Helen in a rather... _compromising_ position.”

“Has she, really?” Carter grinned in astonishment. “And both of them? How on earth did she manage such a feat?”

“Well,” Angie started, though at this moment Peg noticed a sliver of embarrassment behind the gleeful smirk. “It wasn’t that hard, evidently. Given that, uhm... they were in the same bed.”

Caught completely off guard, Peg sputtered the orange juice she’d been drinking all across the table, concluding with a few undignified coughs before she managed to collect herself. Angie seemed even more embarrassed by her reaction , her cheeks now colored by a the light shade of pink.

“Sorry about that, English,” she offered while reaching for a tea towel with which to wipe the table clean. “I probably should’ve waited until you were finished.”

“No, it’s... it’s fine. I just... found it surprising.”

“Isn’t it just?” Angie continued merrily, apparently glad the news have had that effect on Carter. “You wouldn’t think that the two of them would be the ones to...”

“To what, exactly?” Peg ventured, her voice laced with a hint of an icy undertone that surprised even her. Yet when her eyes met Angie’s, it was clear that the knee-jerk reaction had been completely unwarranted. The girl pulled back a bit timidly, fumbling for the proper words.

“N-no, I... didn’t mean... I just... ‘cause I know they were, um, interested in fellas, and... it’s curious, is all.”

Overcome with regret over thinking Angie had been condemning the two girls, Carter offered a genial smile in hope of atoning for her reaction: “It _was_ quite unexpected, wasn’t it?”

Angie glanced up at the warm-spoken words, her effervescent nature rearing anew. “Completely unexpected! My god, how I wish I’d been there to-- Not for the catching-in-the-act part, mind you. But to see Miriam seethe in fury over something completely insignificant.”

“Perhaps it isn’t insignificant for the two of them, Angie.”

“Oh! N-no, I meant... that they are both girls. I guess...” she trailed off, eying Carter diffidently as if gauging her reaction. “I just think that... if you fancy someone, it doesn’t really matter who it happens to be, right English?”

Carter couldn’t for the life of her comprehend how she had – even momentarily – misjudged this wonderful creature. Were it not for the fact that the younger girl would die of embarrassment, Peg would’ve reached over the table to give her a kiss. Instead, she smiled and nodded her agreement: “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

Angie beamed at the sentiment, then deciding to alleviate the tinge of awkwardness in the ensuing silence by starting to clear up the table. As she flitted to and fro with the practiced ease of an automat waitress, she tentatively broached the topic again.

“But why do you think they would...?”

“I’m afraid I’m not quit the expert on the matter, Angie,” Peg responded amiably, which was technically true. After all, _some experience_ certainly does not make one an expert.

“Oh, no of course, I... you know, I’m just curious, that’s all,” Angie explained, and then promptly added (with another blush, Carter guessed despite not being able to see her face), “Not _curious_ curious though, more of a... um...”

Feeling she owed her as much, Cater decided to give Angie an easy way out.

“You know, now that I think about it, I really do understand them,” she said, and though she may have imagined Angie’s heart skip a beat, there was no missing the deliberately slow manner in which the younger girl placed the dishes in the sink; almost as if to avoid making undue noise and possibly miss the answer to the question she then asked:

“You do?”

“Of course,” Peg confirmed, “It was bound to happen, seeing how they’ve both slept with Howard.”

“Oh god, English,” Angie broke out in laughter, “you’re terrible! That’s no way to speak about our host.”

“I’m quite certain L. A.’s most eligible bachelor will be just fine.”

Peg of course cared for Stark greatly, but it was no secret what she thought of his insistence to remain the most notorious lothario in all of western hemisphere. A few well-meaning jabs here and there was the very least he should expect on the matter. But for now, she was more glad for having entertained Angie than she was guilty over the off-the-cuff remark.

It was then that Carter remembered some mention of another thing Angie had meant to discuss, and she was quick to remind her.

“Oh, right. That,” Angie responded with a shy smile as she wiped her hands. “I suppose I better be the one to sit for this one.” She sat by Peg’s side, straightening her dress and clearing her throat as if preparing to address the nation. Peg couldn’t begin to imagine what this was about, but Angie’s solemn mannerisms made it seem it was something important. “Now, it might be too soon to crack open the champagne, but... there’s a good chance I’ll be performing on Broadway!”

“What?! Angie, that’s wonderful! How did--?”

No sooner had Peg begun to ask the question than did Angie set off on a long and impassioned delineation of the whole sequence of events that had led to her almost certainly getting the role. Throughout the uninterrupted monologue, Carter was so amazed (and amused) by the sheer verve behind each spoken word that she had missed more than a few details. A couple of things, however, did catch her attention.

“A letter?”

“Yeah, yeah, I have it right here,” Angie enthused and grabbed a white envelope from a nearby shelf.

As Peg read the text, her face must’ve betrayed her concerns because Angie’s enthusiasm dwindled a touch: “And, they, um... apparently remembered me from an audition. Said the role is perfect for me, English, can you believe it?”

Peg certainly did believe Angie would be perfect for the role – any role. But this letter... something didn’t sit well with her there.

“And you say you got it here?”

“Yeah. I mean, I was surprised too, but I did leave my contact info at the automat so I guess... I guess that’s how they got in touch with me. Is something wrong?”

Carter skimmed through the text one more time and then looked up with a smile.

“No,” she lied. “Everything is fine. You know me – I just tend to worry sometimes.”

“Aww, come ‘ere,” Angie said and drew her in for a hug. “No need for that. Trust me, I won’t forget you when I’m famous,” she concluded, before announcing she was off to start packing. If Peg’s mind hadn’t been somewhere else, she would’ve offered to help.

_Probably nothing._

_Almost certainly nothing._

Angie would go back to New York; the evidently propitious arrangement will turn out to be exactly what the letter said and that will be that.

_But, in case I’m right... you’re better off being away, Angie._

 

*

 

Silence had long since descended upon Howard Stark's Estate, but Dottie was yet to make her move. The verdant cover afforded to her by the trees surrounding the mansion would’ve made waiting easy either way. As it was, surveilling the place with the patience most people would deem unnatural was more akin to slipping into old clothes than any actual test of endurance. Keeping track of her target and their surroundings, noting the potential problems and accounting for every contingency – it was a pattern she knew all too well. So the few hours she’d spent there breezed by rather quickly. And though it may well have been the familiarity of her profession’s minutiae, the ineluctable outcome of the night certainly did its share in making time fly by far faster than she would’ve liked.

Having observed no motion or lighting change in the mansion for over an hour, she slowly made her way forward. With the sinuous grace of cat, she scaled the tall fence with ease and made a bee-line towards the side door, paying close attention to the sleeping animals that dotted the courtyard. Even after the necessary act of lock picking, the silence remained unbroken; her quarry, she knew – oblivious. She gingerly pushed the door open and stopped it in place the instant it had began to creak. Her heart beat faster from that sound alone, ears peeled for even the slightest disturbance on the floor above.

No patter of footsteps, nor any other audible evidence of her intrusion having been observed.

She could proceed.

As she stepped from the darkness of the kitchen and into the lit corridor, she noted the sense of unease that followed her every stepped of the way. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt anything of the sort when on a mission, if she ever had. It’s the target, she tried telling herself – one not to be taken lightly; their skill, and certainly not who they were.

The target.

The target had a name.

Dottie did her best to put it out of her mind. None of that mattered now. Not the name, not the history the two of them shared. The faint flutter of emotion she’d allowed herself to feel on an occasion would revert to a sere wasteland of indifference. It had to. It was the only she will be able to do this.

She went on, passing by the schiller of antique statues, abstract paintings and wall-hung masques. Their faces leered, as if in contempt of her indecisiveness.

No.

None of that.

Her own reluctance was buried deep, and choice was non-existent. A simple climb up the steps, a single pull of the trigger and it will all be over. Not a fitting quietus, perhaps – to die in one’s sleep. But a far better fate than many an end Dottie had wrought on some of her targets.

With a careful gait up the flight of stairs, she ascended to the second floor. It too was silent. A few doors ajar on each side, and the one she wanted closed at the very end. She made a few soft steps over the thick carpeting and then froze in place.

Perhaps it was the innumerable number of times she had had a gun pointed at her. Or maybe it was the fiery nature of the presence behind her. Dottie couldn’t help but smile.

“Evening, Peg.”

“Evening, Dottie,” came the voice from the doorway of the room she’d just passed.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“As a matter of fact, you did – galumphing all around the house. I’d be surprised if you hadn’t woken the whole neighborhood.”

Dottie smiled wider. “And the truth?”

A pregnant pause. And then:

“I did find it awfully suspicious that both Mr. and Mrs. Jarvis as well as Angie had been given a reason to suddenly leave the manor.”

“Oh. Well, you know how it is, Peg – urgency invites mistakes. But, what’s done is done. Shall we?”

With a swiftness that not even Carter could react to, Dottie lunged to the side, simultaneously flinging a nearby vase to where a fraction of second Peggy’s head had been. By the time Peg reemerged from the room and aimed her gun, Dottie was already rushing to the nearest doorway with a gun pulled out. Her own reflexes kicking in, Peg retreated back just in time to see two bullets slam into the wall next to her. Then daring to glance into the corridor again, she saw Dottie had managed to find cover as well.

“I’m sorry it has to be this way,” Dottie broke the intermission, her voice echoing down the hall. “I really am.”

“Sorry enough to lay down your weapon and turn yourself in?”

A huff of laughter. “Not quite.”

She surged to the room across as three bullets whizzed on right behind her. They’d all missed, but Dottie was beyond pleased.

_Good._

So Peg knew this was one dance they won’t both we walking away from.

Evaluating her options, Dottie stepped to the door connecting the two rooms. She leaned forward, carefully listening for any clue as to what Peg was up to.

_Only one way to find out._

She flung the door open while staying in cover, and just she predicted, two more bullets rushed to greet her. By the time she thought it safe to peer into the room, Peg had already disappeared, likely to the room across the hall.

“You’re not going to run off on me, are you?” she asked, or perhaps even suggested.

Another gunshot was her answer.

In an attempt to sneak up on Carter, Dottie surreptitiously turned back the way she came. She stepped out into the hallway just as Peg did the same, and they raised their guns in exact synchronicity of movement. Face to face, as it should be. No more games.

“Well would you look at that,” Dottie said. “A stalemate. Very appropriate, wouldn’t you say, Peg?”

Carter watched her down the barrel of her own gun, arm steady, face expressionless.

“Not quite.”

In mockery of all logic and reason, Peggy Carter lowered her hand.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Dottie demanded, her voice laced with indignation.

Peg ignored the question, her eyes still locked onto Dottie’s. For someone who was about to die, she seemed strangely unafraid.

“You know, I did wonder... why go through all the trouble of removing Angie and the Jarvises; of risk alerting me? Why not just take care of them while they slept?”

Dottie listened, her jaw clenched in subdued anger. If there was ever a time she came close to hating Peggy, it was now.

“Better option. Less targets to keep track of.”

“Right,” Peg nodded, her word easily cutting through Dottie’s lie.

Dottie glanced at the weapon in Carter’s hand.

“Why did you--?”

“Out of bullets,” Peg stated matter-of-factly.

_Liar._

_Liar, liar, liar, LIAR!_ Dottie screamed, each word confined to her mind.

A frisson of utter loathing bloomed in every fiber of her being. She hated everything about this: that she could stand there with a gun and still feel disarmed, that tomorrow’s light would find her amidst the detritus of a pyrrhic victory... that Peg could wait for death to come not with fear in her eyes, but _forgiveness,_ as if to say _:_ I forgive you for everything you’ve ever done, and for what you now have to do.

_Enough._

Dottie needed this to be over.

No more words. No more games.

End of the line.

She’ll fire the weapon and Peggy Carter will slip into Death’s vespertine embrace, never to open her eyes again.

Seconds passed in strained silence, each evanescent fraction of time spanning an eternity. Dottie didn’t pull the trigger, but could already envisage Peg lying on the ground, her body eerily still, her silken hair wreathed in blood.

And it was that image – of a creature as radiant bleeding out in so _revoltingly common_ a manner _–_ that had cemented Dottie’s decision. A decision, she realized, she had made long before coming here. All that was now left, is to go through the motions.

“Good bye, Peg,” she whispered, and turned the gun on herself.

 

*

 

Peggy saw the intent in her eyes a fraction of a second before Dottie’s hand moved. She lunged forward, her hand grabbing Dottie’s arm just as the gun fired and she toppled the assassin onto the ground. A single glance was enough to persuade her that the bullet had missed completely, and she instantly slammed Dottie’s hand against the floor, then flinging the weapon far out of reach.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing?!” Peg bristled, clutching her shirt with both hands. “I’ve known you to be many things, Dottie, but a coward was never one of them.”

“This isn’t cowardice,” Dottie responded, her voice devoid of emotion. “It’s playing the hand you’re dealt. And I really wish you hadn’t interfered.”

“Oh, don’t give me that rubbish. If you think...”

Half-way through the sentence, Peg’s eyes fell upon Dottie’s neck. Now, in the well-lit corridor, she spotted the faint trace of a scar that she had until this moment completely missed.

And just like that it clicked: Dottie’s hand motion back at the restaurant which Peg had attributed to a mere crick, the rumors surrounding the Council, the bizarre bodies S.S.R. had found on three separate locations...

Peg had read the coroner reports on all of them. Each had been a burn victim, yet as best anyone could tell they had combusted from within. The S.S.R. couldn’t make sense of it at the time, and the only clue had been the fact one of them had a prototype tracker Stark had previously developed and reported stolen, but the thing had been damaged to such an extent that no one had thought to link it to the cause of death.

Now, free from the blindfold of ignorance, Peg knew exactly who had stolen them and for what purpose.

“It’s the Council, isn’t it?” she asked as her emotions abated, and she gently reached for Dottie’s neck. “What did they do to--?”

Dottie grasped her hand to stop her. “Don’t. I’ve tried. And I’ve seen what happens if you fail. I’d rather have a bullet.”

As they lay there on the floor, Peg straddling Dottie’s supine body, she realized the assassin may well have been right. They were indeed two sides of the same coin, the opposites of a single whole. And now, where Dottie saw an end, Carter saw a chance. Perhaps this was the only way to stop the Council.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said as she rose from Dottie and helped her up as well. “I can’t very well have you jailed if you’re dead, now can I?”

Where a moment before there was only a empty void, now Peg saw a flicker of emotion and for a second, she could swear Dottie would crack a smile. But there was no humor in Peg’s own voice when she finally said the words:

“Let me help you.”

“Help me?” Dottie scoffed. “You know what I’ve done.”

“I do. And now is your chance to make amends.”

Dottie watched her carefully, as if trying to peer into her mind and find out what the catch was.

“I tried to _kill you,_ ” she said thickly, convinced that would finally make Peg come to her senses.

“A thoroughly clumsy attempt, so I won’t hold it against you,” Peg returned with a faint hint of a smile.

“I don’t want your pity, Peg.”

“Good. Because you’d find it in short supply. All I’m offering – is a helping hand.”

Dottie watched her for few more moments, and though no change was evident on her visage, Peg could almost sense her old self return.

“Is that _all_?”

_And there it is._

“No,” Peg responded in truth, the answer meant both for the brazen suggestion and her own subsequent deflection: “You’re welcome to stay for tea as well. Now then...” she straightened her clothes and hair and moved past Dottie as she spoke: “If you’re quite finished with all this fannying about, I’ll put the kettle on.”

Dottie’s eyes were on her every step of the way; only once Peg was out of sight did she allow herself a smile. Now that she thought about it, she really was in the mood for something English. And some tea wouldn’t be bad either.

 

*

 

If Peggy had not known the nature of his circumstance, she would’ve been tempted to call the man an ambulance. As it was, she sat a few tables from this Brooks person, observing him with far more composure than he currently had. He drew a trembling hand to his mouth; an impulse-like motion, before realizing his cigarette was still unlit on the table. Peg couldn’t really blame him for being a nervous wreck. Her info suggested he was nothing but a small-time crook now way over his head. Nevertheless, he may turn out to be of use to more than just her enemy.

As minutes ticked on by, Peg grew steadily more suspicious. No one came to meet him, and really, why would a sweating, virtually deteriorating wreck of man be running errands for the Council? Even their underlings were reasonably competent, which was a trait Brooks wasn’t currently exhibiting.

A mistake , then...

Or perhaps not?

Unnoticed by every other patron, a man slipped beside Brooks and casually lowered a briefcase by his side, then walking off without so much as a word. Brooks’ eyes darted about with ill-concealed apprehension, as if every second after the delivery was one more he was being forced to endure in this place. His instructions, Peggy surmised, were to remain here for a little while longer, so as not to draw unnecessary suspicion. To her mind, anyone even vaguely perceptive would conclude something was off, but either way, several minutes passed before the overwrought man finally picked up the briefcase and made his way to the side exit. Wasting not a second, Carter followed suit.

When she emerged into the side-alley, Peg was met by a starless night. In front, Brooks was rushing underneath the only working streetlight. She called out to him just as he was about to deisaappear.

“Mr. Brooks.”

He instantly turned around, looking at her apprehensively with a tighter grip on his case. His hoarse though quiet voice was audible enough in the deserted alley.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Carter, S.S.R.”

She could practically see the cogwheels in his mind slowly turn as he made sense of the acronym. Then his eyes widened in angry panic.

“Th-the fucking cops?!”

“Calm down, Mr. Brooks, I just want to talk,” Peggy tried assuaging as she made a few slow steps forward. He, on the other hand, seemed to be fumbling around his coat for a weapon. And sure enough,  she was soon on the business end of a M1911 pistol. A Remington Rand version, unless she was mistaken.

“Talk?! I ain’t talkin’ to no stinkin’ copper. Least of all some dumb broad.”

Suddenly the plan of alleviating his concerns and assuring his cooperation with promises of protection seemed far less imperative.

“I think it would be in your best interest to listen to what I have to--”

“I don’ give a damn what you think, copper. Now you make one more step and I’ll splatter your brains all over that wall there. What ‘you think ‘bout that, huh?!”

“It’s an option,” Carter remarked, thoroughly unimpressed with the threat. “Personally, I’d advise against it.”

From out the shadows, Dottie’s hands slithered round Brooks’ neck, the tip of her switchblade pressing against his neck.

“You recognize my voice?”

If his horror-filled eyes and shaky nod were anything to go by, he did indeed know her.

“Good. Then you know what I’ll do to you if you so much as _think_ about pulling the trigger,” she emphasized with a firmer press of the blade against skin, the drop of blood underneath making her meaning abundantly clear. “Drop the gun.”

The weapon clanged against the wet concrete, its sound then giving way to silence that made even Dottie’s whispered words easy to hear.

“Now then... what do we say to the lady to whom you’ve been so _disgustingly rude_?”

Another press of the blade, and a longer crimson trickle underneath.

“I-I-I’m... sorry?” came the sad excuse for an apology.

“Hmmmm,” Dottie mused, then spoke the last words he’d ever hear: “Not good enough.”

“Dorothy!”Peg called out pointedly.

Dottie loosened her grip a little and pouted, like a child whose hand was just slapped away from a cookie jar. “You’re lucky this time,” she said to him in a low voice. “Now rung along before I change my mind.”

He clumsily skittered away as fast as he could,  managing to grab the briefcase as well.

One foot after the other, the clicks of Dottie’s heels echoed in the alley as she strolled over to the other woman.

“You know, Peg... it occurred to me that you only call me Dorothy when you’re angry... or aroused. Do I need to ask which is--”

“ _The former._ ” Peg interjected thickly.

 “I’ll take your word for it.”

She eyed Carter with a smirk, an emotion Peg did her best not to mirror despite her disapproval of what had just happened.

“Dottie, he is getting away.”

“You know, I think you might be right,” the assassin returned casually.

“And do you mean to _follow him,_ perhaps?!”

“I was planning to, Peg. Unfortunately, something far more interesting caught my attention.”

Just as she came face to face with Carter, the venerable S.S.R. agent realized this was one time she couldn’t afford to indulge Dottie’s little games.

“Never mind, I’ll do it,” she declared curtly, and moved only a step before Dottie pressed a hand against the wall to stop her.

“Relax, I planted one of Stark’s trackers on him.”

“Oh,” Peg breathed out, suddenly cognizant of the fact an easy out had just been snatched away from her. “That’s... that’ll work, I suppose.”

Part of her was surprised Dottie would go anywhere near a tracker, after Howard had managed to remove the modified version of the device from her neck. Any normal person would emerge from the experience with extreme aversion to Stark’s invention. Not Dottie Underwood, apparently. Carter was still amazed she had endured the procedure with nothing but a mild look of boredom (intermittently interrupted by a wink aimed at a certain S.S.R. agent). And she still wasn’t sure if it had all been a mask for her benefit or if the notion of sudden incendiary death really hadn’t impressed Dottie much. Knowing the woman, she leaned toward the latter.

“Nevertheless, those do have a limited range and at a certain point he might vanish on us. And the S.S.R. cannot afford to--”

“Speaking of which,” Dottie interjected, “have you given any thought to my suggestion?”

“I did and I will not,” Peggy responded tersely. Leaving the S.S.R. to start her own agency was the most ridiculous idea she’d ever heard.

“You should reconsider, Peg. Those buffoons need you far more than you need them. And since you still insist on this silly notion of protecting ‘the people,’ I can think of no better _shield_ than you.”

The word gave Carter pause, and for a moment, the idea didn’t seem completely and undeniably preposterous. But then she remembered to whom she was speaking. Seriously considering yet another of Dottie’s balancing acts between teasing and complimenting would be an error in judgment. Much better to respond in kind.

“And are you to be my sidekick?”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Dottie’s eyes narrowed threateningly, which ironically only served to amuse Peg. “I’d be more of a shadow ally – you know I find playing by the rules a little tedious. But you did save my life, so I’d be there to... lend a hand, _in whichever way you need._ ”

 _Oh for the love of..._ Best to ignore that last part.

“Technically, Howard saved your life, not I.”

“I supposed you’re right, he hasn’t been entirely incompetent. You might want to consider him for your nascent agency.”

Good lord, why was this idea sounding better and better?

“If I promise to think about it, will you go after Brooks already?”

“Hmmmm,” Dottie mused as she leaned close to Peg (too close for comfort, she’d judge it only a month ago, yet now, there was nothing uncomfortable about the closeness of Dottie’s lips to her own). “I might, but what exactly is my _incentive?_ ”

“Reduced jail time?” Peg arched an eyebrow playfully. “A more comfortable mattress for your cell? Double meal rations?”

“Tempting,” came the sarcastic retort, “but I was thinking about something of a more personal nature.” With that she brushed her lips against Peg’s, a barely-there touch that Carter was half certain she imagined. Then pulling back a little, her eyes gleamed with suggestive intent.

“Dottie,” Peg whispered, “I told you, this is... simply a business arrangement,” she lied through her teeth. It was little more than a petty attempt at retribution for Dottie’s constant innuendos, and predictably enough, the Russian assassin saw through it.

“Oh, of course,” Dottie nodded with mock-seriousness. “Just business. Well, with that in mind... I really think I ought to stop by the manor later this evening. We must go over our strategies...” she spoke canorously as a single finger of hers began a seemingly desultory trip down the side of Carter’s hip. “...contingencies,” she breathed over her lips, “... and thoroughly examine _every single glorious detail._ ”

When she pulled back, Peg reopened her eyes, violently wrenched from the surreal intimacy of the moment to face Dottie’s smug little smirk.

“Fine,” Carter finally acquiesced, having neither the chance nor desire to win this particular battle. “Just make sure Angie doesn’t see you.” The Jarvises, being on a vacation, certainly wouldn’t. “Or she might start asking questions.”

“Questions like ‘can you two keep it down,’ or perhaps ‘any room for me’?”

Peggy shook her head in disbelief, her feigned anger threatening to yield to a smile. “Dottie, don’t even _think_ about--”

“I’m just saying, Peg... if you felt so inclined, I wouldn't be averse to expanding our little alliance.”

“You’re absolutely incorrigible. ”

“Not at all,” Dottie remarked offhandedly. “I just need the right person to discipline me.”

Then rather than wait for any sort of reaction from Peg – feigned or otherwise – she leaned over to give  her a surprisingly chaste peck on the cheek.

With no more than that she was gone, her svelte form soon swallowed up by the darkness while Carter remained in the light. If Peg had been a superstitious person with a penchant for metaphors, she would’ve taken that as an ill omen. Instead, she had an unusually good feeling about all of this. Yes, she was technically working together with an enemy of the state, but it really was for the greater good. And if that noble goal necessitated consorting with individuals as unscrupulous as Dottie Underwood, well... That was a sacrifice Peg was more than willing to make. 


End file.
